Vanguard

Chapter 29

MIA

The report to Mank at SOE took nearly an hour to encrypt and send.

Consciousness transfer experiments. Trafficking pipeline. End goal immortality and robot armies. Paragon might be synthetic—possibly the first successful prototype. Kapoor discovered connection, subsequently disappeared. Recommend escalation to highest priority.

That was a day ago. I’ve heard nothing back.

Now, I’m standing at my hotel window, watching the November sky turn violet, and trying to remember who I was before I knew what I know while simultaneously trying not to lose my mind.

My phone buzzes.

Tonight. 7 p.m. Wear something warm, and make sure your shoes are strapped on. I’m taking you somewhere special.

My stomach does double somersaults at the name. Nate.

The smart play is to pull back, wait for London’s instructions, stop tangling my personal feelings with an operation that’s grown far more dangerous than anyone anticipated. This is no longer about Vanguard being a weapon—no, it’s about weapons. Plural.

But of course, I have missed him like crazy, despite all of that, so my thumbs type: What do you mean about my shoes? Where are we going?

Just no flip flops. It’s a surprise. Trust me.

Trust. The word sits heavy in my stomach.

I know things about his world that would absolutely break him, or so I assume.

I know his superhero partner isn’t human at all.

I know the company he serves is trafficking people, murdering them in laboratories where they test them like rats.

I know they’re building an army of synthetic soldiers for the United States government and who knows who else, and that the rich and powerful may one day live forever.

And I know if London decides he’s too dangerous, too compromised, too valuable to leave in Global Dynamix’s hands, then I…then they…

I close my eyes, force the thought down. I don’t want to think about that right now. I don’t want to think about anything beyond tonight.

I’ll be ready, I send the text.

Then, I start to get dressed for a date with a man I might have to destroy.

Seems my kisses still might end in death after all.

I find Nate on my hotel balcony when I step out of the washroom.

The sight of him hits me hard, nearly knocking me off my feet.

He’s in civilian clothes—dark wash leather jacket, navy Henley, black jeans—and he looks exhausted.

His eyes are weary, his shoulders look tense, and there’s something brittle in his smile.

But still, he’s the most gorgeous being in the world.

“Hey, darlin’.”

I cross the room as he slides open the door, and when he pulls me into his arms, I let myself have it. I feel everything, just for a moment, just this once.

“I missed you,” he says against my hair, the cold air from outside snaking around us.

And I’ve been lying to you since the day we met.

“I missed you too,” I say, breathing his scent deep into my lungs, hoping to store it there for eternity.

He pulls back to look at my face, and his eyes search mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. He’s looking for something. Reassurance, maybe. Or checking to see if I’ve changed the way he seems to have changed.

I’m sure I have. I think we’ve both been through the ringer.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Better now.” But the shadow doesn’t lift from his expression. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“The calibration?”

He goes still. “How did you—”

“You mentioned it. On the phone.” I keep my voice casual, even as my pulse kicks up. “You said it was routine.”

But you sounded like you didn’t believe it.

“Right. Yeah. Sorry, I forgot, I…” He releases me, runs a hand through his hair. “Julia’s version of routine, anyway. Which means four hours in a chair with electrodes in my skull while they ‘adjust my parameters’ and other tech mumbo jumbo.”

I already know what calibration looks like.

Julia showed me the room of horrors, explaining the process with that cold pride of hers.

But hearing him describe it, hearing the flatness in his voice, like he’s describing something that happened to someone else, makes my stomach turn.

I can’t help but think of the test subjects and how they would have been subjected to something so much worse.

“That sounds awful,” I manage to say.

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m used to it.” The words come out automatic, rehearsed.

Then, he stills, and something flashes across his face, his jaw wiggling back and forth.

“Actually, no,” he says, like something has dawned on him.

“It’s not fine. It’s fucked up, isn’t it?

The whole thing is fucked up, and I’m only just starting to realize how much. ”

For a moment, my feelings are shoved aside, and only the agent is in control. I file this away like I would normally do, noting the shift in his awareness, the cracks forming in his compliance. This is useful. This is exactly the kind of intelligence London wants.

Then, I stop myself, somewhat disturbed at how easily I was able to compartmentalize my feelings for him right there. Disturbed, and if I’m honest, maybe a little impressed. I still got it.

“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand. “I want to show you something. Get your mind off all of it—mine too.”

“Where are we going?” I look over the railing, and my heart flips. “We’re flying, aren’t we?”

That ghost of a smile again. “Trust me.”

Flying with him feels different than before.

When we left the gala, it was a complete surprise, and I was ill-prepared, with no idea what to expect.

Now, while I’m still terrified of the whole very unnatural ordeal, I’m aware of other things. The strength in his arms that could snap my spine without effort. The power humming beneath his skin, the same power Global Dynamix wants to weaponize.

The fact that somewhere in a laboratory, they built another version of him. A prototype that proved the concept works. A prototype to obey all orders.

But doesn’t Vanguard obey all orders too?

We continue flying, almost like a sightseeing tour, going up and around Central Park then past the Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building, One World Trade, Vanguard holding me tight to him.

He doesn’t fly as fast as he did before, probably because it’s cold as fuck and my face is numb.

Luckily, I wore my combat boots—I can see why my shoes needed to be secure.

Then, we approach the end of Manhattan and spiral around the Statue of Liberty, and despite everything, my breath catches.

She rises from the harbor like a promise for so many, green and ancient, her torch lifted against the dark sky.

I’ve seen her in films and from planes, but never like this—close enough to touch, her face solemn, wise and somewhat kind.

“Hold on,” Nate says, and then we’re landing on the platform at the base of the torch, a place I know for sure has been completely closed off to tourists for over a century.

As if this exclusive access wasn’t enough, I see that a picnic has been arranged on the narrow space. Basket, blanket, candles flickering in glass holders. Champagne in an ice bucket. Cushions piled against the railing.

It’s so bloody romantic, I feel my knees going weak, preparing to swoon, something I can’t really afford to do right now, but so help me, I’m doing it anyway.

“Danny,” Nate explains, helping me onto the blanket. “He’s better at this stuff than I am. I don’t have a lot of experience in wooing.”

“It’s beautiful.” The words come out steady, even though nothing inside me is. “Nate, this is…”

“Too much?” His forehead wrinkles up, making him look adorable.

“No. It’s perfect.” And it is. That’s kind of the problem. The man is perfect, and worse than that, he’s perfect for me in ways not many people would understand.

He settles beside me, pops the champagne, pours two glasses. The first sip is cold and bright, and I drink too fast, hoping the alcohol will blur the edges of my thoughts.

As normal, it doesn’t.

“To Lady Liberty,” he says, raising his glass toward her face.

I clink mine against his. “To Lady Liberty.”

We drink, and I stare at the city, thinking about how few people have seen it from this exact angle.

Then, I think about the files Bayo is still decrypting and what Mank thinks about the intel I’ve given him.

I think about Kozlov’s trafficking pipeline feeding bodies into Global Dynamix labs.

And I think about the man sitting next to me, who might not have any idea what his company really does.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Nate says, his voice soft.

“Just taking it in.”

“Taking in what, exactly?” His voice is gentle, but his eyes are sharp. “You’ve been quiet all week. Short texts. Missed calls. I figured you were pulling away.”

I was. I am. I have to.

“You’ve been pulling away too,” I point out.

“I haven’t had a choice.”

Right. He doesn’t have a choice.

“Well, I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I say carefully. “The article. Deadlines.”

“The article.” He sets down his glass. “Right. The article about me. The one where you dig into my life and write it all down for strangers to read.” There’s no accusation in his tone, but I flinch anyway. “I keep forgetting that’s why you’re here.”

Oh, fuck. If you only knew…

“Nate—”

“I’m not angry. I’m just…” He trails off, staring out at the water, at the taxis plying it, making the reflected lights sparkle. “I don’t know who I am anymore. That’s the problem. But hey, maybe when I read the article, I can get a good idea. See how I look through your eyes.”

The opening is right there. The chance to push, to probe, to extract information about his mental state, his doubts, his vulnerabilities. This is what I’m trained for. This is the job.

“You look amazing in my eyes,” I tell him. I take in a steady breath. “What do you mean you don’t know who you are anymore?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is gravel.

“During the calibration, I saw something. A man—mustache, white coat, looking at me like I was a mistake. Julia says it was a hallucination, but she’s lying.

I can always tell when she’s lying.” He picks up his glass, turns it in his hands.

“And there’s more. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, and this is definitely off the record, but… ”

I lean forward, holding my breath. “Yes? What?”

“I learned the government wants to use me against domestic threats. ‘Peacekeeping,’ Julia calls it. But we both know what that really means. Marsh even met with the Secretary of Defense about it.”

My heart is pounding now. Every instinct I have is telling me to push harder, dig deeper, find out what he knows about everything, but I pull back.

“What do you want to do?” I ask.

He looks at me surprised, like no one’s ever asked him that before. I’m starting to think no one ever has.

“Me?”

“Yeah. What do you want to do? What do you want?”

He rubs his lips together, his eyes searching my face, as if to check if I’m earnest.

“I want to be a person,” he finally says, the words calm and quiet. “Not a symbol. Not an asset. Not a weapon they point at whatever target serves their everchanging interests.” He sets down the glass. “I want to make my own choices. I want to know who I am when I’m not being what they made me.”

“You’re you,” I say. “The you who’s sitting here now. The you I saw in Montana. That scared yet brave little boy who chose to protect his sister and then never stopped protecting. That’s you, Nate Whitaker—a man of his own free will and one who still gets to choose.”

“Do I?” His laugh is hollow, my words bouncing off him. “Sometimes, I’m not sure. Sometimes, I feel things, this darkness, and I don’t know if they’re mine or just programming. The calibrations mess with my head, make the line between who I am and what they want me to be harder to find.”

I reach for his hand, both to comfort him and steady myself, because I really need him to find that damn line.

But when his fingers close around mine, warm and solid, it’s like all my fears drop away for just a moment, and something inside me breaks a little.

Bloody hell, I think I’m falling for him.

I’ve been falling since he made me grilled cheese, maybe since before that, and every piece of intelligence I gather is another nail in his coffin.

Or mine.

When this is over, someone will have to put him down.

I look at our intertwined hands. At the man who flew me to the Statue of Liberty because he wanted to show me something rare and beautiful. At the asset who might become a weapon, who might force London’s hand, who might end up in my crosshairs no matter how much I—

Love him.

The thought snakes across my brain, threatening to undo me.

No.

I don’t love him. I can’t love him.

I don’t even know what love is.

He is the target. That’s all he will ever be.

And yet, I’m still lying to myself.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say, the words coming out of me like they have a will of their own.

Nate looks at me, waiting, and I feel the weight of everything pressing down—Kapoor, Paragon, Prometheus, all of it balanced on the edge of my tongue. The lies, so many lies upon lies.

But these words refuse to leave my mouth. If I tell him the truth, I blow my cover, the mission ends, and whatever fragile thing is growing between us shatters along with it. It will shatter into so many fucking pieces, there will be no chance in hell of them being put back together.

So, I swallow the confession and give him something smaller instead, smaller but no less true.

“I’m scared,” I say, staring at our hands. “Of what’s happening between us. Of how much I…” I trail off, start again. “I know you probably know this by now, but…I don’t do this. Get close to people. Let them in. It’s not… I wasn’t built for it.”

His expression softens. “Neither was I, darlin’.”

“But here we are.”

“Here we are.”

He pulls me closer, tucking me against his side, while the candles flicker and the city hums below us. I let myself lean into him, into the warmth and the steadiness, even though I know it can’t last.

“Whatever happens,” he says quietly, “whatever they try to turn me into…I need you to know something.”

“What?”

“This.” His arm tightens around me. “You and me. This is the most real thing in my life, the only thing that feels like it’s actually mine.”

Oh, kill me now.

My throat closes on me. I want to tell him the truth so badly. I want to confess everything all at once and warn him about what’s coming.

But agents don’t get to want things, especially not NOCs. We follow orders. We complete objectives. We are the ghosts of this corrupt world, and we sacrifice whatever needs sacrificing in order to get the job done.

And sometimes, those sacrifices cost us everything.

So I say nothing. I just hold him tighter and watch the lights of the harbor blur through the tears I refuse to let fall.